


Not Another Sports Story

by sarcasticsra



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticsra/pseuds/sarcasticsra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The recent decision by the California Supreme Court to uphold Proposition 8 ends up causing, for Dan, a bit of a spontaneous emotional avalanche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Another Sports Story

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wanted to write some light-hearted, banter-y, Dan/Casey fic, and it turned into this instead. What the hell, brain. Thanks for the beta, Kelly.

“Proposition 8,” said Dan.

Casey looked up from the magazine he was reading, (“research,” he’d called it; “wasting time and tempting me to kick your ass,” Dana had replied) cocking a curious eyebrow at his friend. “Proposition 8?” he repeated.

“It was upheld by the California Supreme Court,” he replied. “I want to talk about it.”

Casey blinked. “Okay,” he said. “But since when do you announce your intent to prattle on incessantly about a subject? Usually you just do it. Is this gonna be a new thing, ‘cause I have to say, it may backfire. Announcing things beforehand gives people a chance to flee.”

“I do not prattle on any more incessantly than anyone else on this floor.” He gave Casey a pointed look. “But that’s not what I meant. I’m not saying I want to talk about it with you or Dana or whoever, though I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to avoid it, either. I’m saying I want to _talk_ about it.”

“If I cared enough, I’d argue that first point,” he said. “But I don’t. So what does that mean? You want to talk about it? Or you don’t want to talk about it? Or you want to talk about it with random strangers, but not people you know?”

“No, I definitely want to talk about it with everyone. That’s still not the point.”

“Okay, I have two things to say in response to that,” Casey replied. “Number one, we have officially used various permutations of the phrase ‘talk about it’ far too many times in the last few minutes,” he said. “And number two, I have absolutely no idea what, conversationally, is going on.”

Dan shook his head. “Casey, I’m saying I want to _talk_ about it,” he emphasized. “On the show.”

“The show.” Casey paused. “Our show?”

“No, Casey; I thought I’d build a time machine and go talk about it on The Ed Sullivan Show.” Dan rolled his eyes. “Yes, our show.”

Casey looked at Dan. He seemed serious. “Dan, what’s the name of our show?”

This time Dan raised an eyebrow curiously. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” he said. “That’s a bad sign, you know. They say the memory is the first thing to go, and considering your advanced years...”

“Dan,” Casey said, giving him a look. “Our show is called _Sports Night_. We’re a _sports show_. We talk about _sports_.”

“That would make a certain amount of sense, given the name, I agree.”

“We do like to be definitional around here.”

Dan paused a second. “Okay, I think you just made that word up, but I’m gonna let it slide because we’re getting off topic here.”

“I find it hard to believe we were ever _on_ topic,” muttered Casey. “And I did not make up the word ‘definitional’. It’s not like ‘irregardless’, or anything. It’s a real, functional, useful word.”

“Useful and functional for you and the other three people who know about it,” said Dan. “However, that’s not the point of this conversation. The point is—”

“Our conversations have points now? When did that start happening?”

“The point is,” Dan continued, undeterred, “that I want to talk about Proposition 8.”

“You want to talk about Proposition 8,” repeated Casey.

“Yes.”

“That’s the point.”

“Yes.”

“You want to talk about Proposition 8, a non-sports-related event, on our show, a _sports_ show,” Casey said.

“Precisely.”

“Oh, well, Dana’s going to love this.”

* * *

“All right, what’s first?” Dana asked at the first rundown meeting of the day, a little later that morning.

“The California Supreme Court,” said Dan. Everybody in the room looked at Dan with varying expressions of confusion, except for Casey, who just shook his head.

Dana raised an eyebrow. “The California Supreme Court, Dan?” she asked. “Did they enter into some kind of sports league together when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“I doubt it, though they might have a baseball team—you never know,” he said, then paused to think about it. “Actually, that’d be a good idea. Maybe all the State Supreme Courts could have one. Then they could play each other.”

“Yes, and once we enter this mythical world where jurists play baseball against one another, we’ll—well, we’ll cover it if we have to, but we’ll laugh really hard while we’re doing it,” Dana said. “Until then, what does the California Supreme Court have to do with tonight’s show?”

“I want to talk about Proposition 8,” Dan replied. “Not just with all of you, though I would like to discuss it with you as well. However, since there has been confusion over this in the past that I would like to avoid now, I can clarify: what I’m saying, specifically, is that I’d like to talk about Proposition 8 on the show. Tonight’s show in particular, since it’s a current event and all.”

“There was confusion about that in the past?” Natalie asked.

“The very recent past,” Dan admitted, glancing at the clock. “About an hour ago.”

“Dan,” Dana said, peering over her glasses at him. “You do know that the show—this show, the one we do five days a week—is a sports show, right? It covers sports.”

“Casey and I had this exact same discussion,” remarked Dan. “I’m aware of that, yes. However, I happen to think this is important.”

“Be that as it may, it’s not about _sports_ ,” Dana replied. “So it doesn’t really have a place on our show—a show that _covers_ sports.”

“But it could,” Dan said. “If we wanted it to. And I, for one, really want it to.”

“Right.” Dana shook her head. “I’ll keep that in mind. We’re going to move on for now, though, okay?” She didn’t wait for Dan to reply before she added, “Good. Now, what’s next?”

Dana didn’t seem to notice the frown Dan wore for the rest of the meeting, but Casey sure did.

* * *

Dan knocked briefly on Dana’s open office door before walking inside. He put his hands in his pockets, saying, “Dana.”

“Dan,” Dana said, looking up from where she was seated at her desk. “What’s up?”

“I know I have a bit of a reputation as a joker,” he started without preamble. “I know that people talk.”

Dana gave him an amused look. “You think people talk about you being a joker? Like we run up to each other in the halls, going, ‘Oh, that Dan Rydell, what a joker he is.’”

“I didn’t say you used those exact words,” Dan replied. “Just that the general feeling was there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to clear something up.”

“What is it you think your known-joker status is obfuscating?”

“Have you been getting those Word of the Day emails?” Dan asked, but then shook his head. “Never mind. What I wanted to clear up—I was serious earlier,” he said. “At the rundown meeting this morning? I want to talk about Prop 8.”

Dana’s eyebrows rose. “That was more than just your usual off-topic prattle?”

“Why do people around here think I have some unique gift for prattle that the rest of you don’t?” Dan asked rhetorically. “Have you heard yourselves?”

“Maybe we just think you’re the best at it.”

“I want it known that I object to that.”

“This isn’t a trial, Dan.”

“There should still be a record of these things.”

“I’ll write it down for you.”

“Thank you.” He paused, looking seriously at Dana. “I want to talk about it.”

Dana sighed. “It’s not a sports story, Dan.”

“So?”

“So...we produce a sports show.”

“So that means everything we report has to have something to do with sports?”

“That’s the general idea, yes.”

“Well, frankly, I think that idea lacks imagination, Dana.”

“Be that as it may,” Dana replied, “it’s the idea we’re operating under.”

Dan was quiet for a moment. “It’s important,” he said at last.

“I’m sorry, Dan,” she said. “It’s not relevant. Not as far as the show is concerned.”

“It’s not relevant,” Dan repeated slowly, and she shrugged.

“There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“It’s not relevant,” Dan repeated again. He opened his mouth to add something but then changed his mind, snapping it shut and pursing his lips into a firm line. Nodding curtly at Dana, he left her office.

* * *

“Dan?”

Casey frowned when Dan didn’t respond, just kept typing furiously at his computer. He tried again. “Danny?”

That one got his attention. Dan faltered, looking up. “Yeah?”

“Are you upset?”

“Why do you ask?” It seemed like he was trying go for a nonchalant tone, but it was undercut by the way he fidgeted and avoided Casey’s gaze.

“Mostly because I’m not sure if you’re over there typing or just unfairly beating up your computer keyboard.”

“Who says it’s unfair? Maybe the keyboard deserves it.”

“Oh?” Casey raised an eyebrow. “And what heinous crime did it commit to warrant that kind of abuse? Don’t tell me it started spontaneously generating puns, because if so, you’re letting it off easy.”

Dan didn’t even smile.

“Seriously, Danny, if you’re upset about something—”

“Of course I’m upset about something, Casey!” Dan’s tone wasn’t _loud_ , per se, but it definitely qualified as intense. “I’m upset that in most states in this country, including this one, might I add, two people are unable to get married if they just so happen to be the same sex. And in California, a state upheld as this bastion of progressiveness and liberalism, they _had_ this right, and it got _taken away_! This upsets me! The question is: why doesn’t it upset _you_? Why doesn’t it upset _Dana_? Why doesn’t it upset _everyone_?”

“Dan—” Casey tried, but he was too late, as Dan had already stood and stalked out of the office, not bothering to look back.

* * *

Isaac knew without looking up that it was Danny who had walked into his office without knocking. He’d ambled around the room silently for a couple minutes, as if lost, then sat down in the chair across from his desk, and was now staring at him silently. “I suppose I’m going to have to be the first person to say something,” he said, looking up finally and leaning back in his chair. He studied Dan, noticing the frown and the way his eyes lacked that certain mischievous spark he was used to finding there. “What’s the matter, Danny?”

“Isaac, I’m bisexual.”

The words seemed to tumble out of Danny’s mouth of their own volition, and now he looked panicked, like he was desperately searching for a way to retrieve them from the ether. Wordlessly, Isaac stood, walking over to his office bar and pouring a tumbler of scotch. He handed it to Danny before sitting back down behind his desk.

“It’s one in the afternoon,” Dan said, looking at the floor, then the desk, then the glass—anywhere but at Isaac.

“You look like you need it.”

“That’s it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you want something else?”

“I mean—” Dan swallowed, took a sip of his drink, and chanced a glance up. “I mean about what I said.”

“Daniel,” Isaac started, putting just the slightest emphasis on his name, “if you think that’s going to change my opinion of you in any significant way,” he pointed at the glass, “I want my scotch back.”

That coaxed a ghost of a smile out of him. “Okay.” He paused a minute. “Thank you, Isaac.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

“So what’s been eating Dan?” Natalie asked Casey.

“He does seem fairly discontented today,” Jeremy agreed.

“I wish I knew,” Casey said, sighing and throwing down the notebook he’d been holding. “He’s upset about the whole Prop 8 thing, yeah, but I think there’s something else, and he won’t tell me.”

“It’s bothering him this much?” Jeremy asked. “The decision about Proposition 8, I mean?”

“Yeah,” said Casey tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “He really wants to talk about it. He thinks we should all be angrier about it.”

“But you think something else is bothering him too?” asked Natalie.

“Yeah, I do.” Casey toyed absently with his pen, thinking.

“Could it be this decision is personal for him somehow?” Jeremy suggested.

Casey didn’t reply right away, unwilling to acknowledge that Dan’s behavior as he’d witnessed it _did_ seem to speak of a personal involvement in the issue, though he didn’t know why. “Maybe,” he said noncommittally, and then straightened, picking up his notebook. “I should get back to work,” he added suddenly, and Natalie and Jeremy exchanged a glance.

“All right,” Natalie said, and the two of them left together.

Casey pretended not to hear Jeremy ask in a whisper, “Did I say something?”

* * *

Casey found Dan in the editing room a little later. “Hey,” he said, walking in and closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” Dan replied, not looking up. They were both silent for a few minutes, before Dan eventually added, “I’m sorry for blowing up at you earlier.”

Casey waved that away. “Not a big deal,” he said. “I was talking to Jeremy and Natalie about half an hour ago,” he added, “and Jeremy thought this might be something personal for you.”

Dan didn’t say anything right away. “It is,” he replied at last. “I’m bisexual.” He glanced at Casey, looking somewhat anxious.

“Uh.” Casey had no idea what to say to that. “You’re bisexual? How—uh, how long have you known?”

“My whole life, Casey,” Dan said, smiling humorlessly. “Though I didn’t really acknowledge it until college.”

“So—wow. Okay.” Casey shook his head. “This may take me a second to digest.”

Dan looked just a little bit amused. “Man, had I known it would shut you up this effectively, I would’ve come out a long time ago.”

“Excuse me,” Casey said, pointing a finger at him, “but if either of us is ever in need of a shutting up from time to time, I think most people would agree it’s you.”

“Most people? Really? Was there a poll?” Dan asked. “If it was an online one, well, we all know your sordid history concerning _those_.”

“You just can’t accept that you lost, can you?”

“I’d need to actually have lost in order to be able to accept it.”

Casey smiled slightly, shaking his head. “So, uh, who else knows?”

“I told Rebecca,” Dan said, “and Abby. And as of one o’clock today, Isaac.”

“So are you going to tell everyone else?”

“Maybe,” said Dan. “This has all kind of happened pretty spontaneously.”

Casey nodded, clapping Dan on the shoulder. “I’m here for you, Dan. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, Casey,” Dan said, smiling. “I know that.”

* * *

Dan was already seated at the conference table as the staff filed in for the rundown meeting about to start. A television on a mobile stand had been rolled into the conference room, and a news clip was playing on it, about a local football player who had been badly beaten by his teammates once they found out he was gay. Once it was over, Dan stood and turned off the TV.

“This is why it’s relevant,” he started. “We’re human beings, and this issue, Proposition 8 being upheld, that affects _other_ human beings, and when we see something like this, when a group is having their rights taken away, it’s our responsibility to speak up,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We have a platform. Sure, its focus is sports, but its focus is also _people_ , and there are plenty of people involved in sports who are personally affected by this decision.” He paused then, taking a deep breath. “Myself included. I’ve been a sports anchor for sixteen years. I love sports, and consider it a kind of home. I’m also bisexual.” He looked at Dana, Jeremy, Natalie, and Casey in turn; the first three seemed surprised, but Casey just nodded. “There are more people like me, people who need to know that they’re not alone, who don’t have the ability to speak. Don’t we have the obligation to speak for them?”

There was silence for a good minute or two, in which time Dana studied Dan’s face carefully. “All right, Dan,” she said finally. “You can have forty-five seconds.”

Dan nodded. “Thank you, Dana.” He moved back to sit down.

“By the way, Dan,” she added, and he gave her a curious look, “you know we all love your goofball ass, right? No matter what.”

He smiled, lifting his hands up and apart as he feigned immodesty. “What’s not to love?”

* * *

“Before we go,” Dan said into the cameras, “there’s something that I think deserves to be addressed. It’s a current event, and one that has upset and disheartened a great number of people.” He paused for a second. “I’m talking, of course, about the recent decision by the California Supreme Court to uphold Proposition 8, the measure banning gay marriage in California.” He clasped his hands together. “Unlike other similar measures, this proposition did not prevent a right—it took one away. We here at Sports Night recognize the emotional blow this decision has dealt to millions. Therefore we thought it could only help to offer our support to those fighting in this struggle, and to implore them not to give up hope. If history has taught us anything about the fight for civil rights, it is that as long as we persevere, progress will always prevail in the end. Thank you.”

“That’s it for this edition of Sports Night,” chimed in Casey. “For Dan Rydell, I’m Casey McCall—thank you for joining us. Have a good night.”

“We’re out,” called Dana from the control room. “That was nice, Dan.”

Dan smiled but didn’t respond, and Casey turned to him. “Can I say something?”

“Yeah, Casey?”

“I just want to make it clear,” he said, removing his ear piece, “that 'definitional' is a perfectly valid adjective, and I still object to your insistence that it is somehow obscure.”

Dan couldn’t help it. He laughed.

After the day he’d had, it felt good.


End file.
